


Real or not real?

by lheadley



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (because I am afraid the death of Roscoe is why the opening titles will have to change S4), Angst, Frottage, Lots of Angst, M/M, Panic Attacks, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Roscoe the jeep gets a mention, chubby!derek, chubby!kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-08 10:38:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1131657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lheadley/pseuds/lheadley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Stiles tries to work out whether having a naked werewolf in his bathroom is real life or just another dream, and Derek is able to physically show what is real</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Close all the doors behind you

The jeep shuddered to a halt in the driveway. Stiles leaned back in his seat, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes, before suddenly scrubbing at his face violently – as if to force the gnawing sense of exhaustion out of his system. It had been another bad day – not for him, this time, but for Scott.  Lacrosse practice had been a testing experience. Scott had started wolfing out on the pitch, and had barely held it together. After the session Greenberg had made some disparaging remark, and the claws had come out – unseen by the rest of the team, but only because Stiles had thought on his feet and pushed Scott back into the showers. It had taken Stiles ten minutes to talk Scott down from that, and then another half an hour before he was sure Scott was stable enough to leave the locker room. Stiles had held a shivering Scott, still damp from the shower, in a tight hug until Scott was sure the red haze was contained and he had his eyebrow situation under control. Scott’s misery and panic had been so awful that Stiles had not even made the obvious wet dog jokes that had occurred to him – a noble self-sacrifice on his part.

With all the drama, Stiles had not had time to change out of his lacrosse gear – he felt grimy, exhausted, and could feel a slight sharp sensation in his chest every time he breathed. It was a pain that he was learning to dread. On top of everything else, Roscoe had developed a nasty clunking sound in anything other than second gear that did not bode well. Stiles was often disparaging about his “heap of junk”, but the thought that Roscoe might die on him caused him an additional twinge. The sharp sensation in his chest was joined by a slight tightening of panic – Roscoe was a constant part of his life, a major character in the repeated dramas of the last year. To have his jeep die on him was unthinkable.

Stiles pulled in a deep, jagged breath in an attempt to calm down. He needed to stop being so emotionally fragile. Slowly he clambered out and made his way to the house – a hot shower followed by a long nap seemed called for. And then, perhaps, so long as his father was not around to witness the transgression, an indulgent dinner of chicken nuggets and curly fries.

Toeing off his mud encrusted sneakers, Stiles slowly clambered his way up the stairs. As he rounded the corner, he froze. Down the passage, the door to the bathroom was slightly ajar. The sharp sensation in his chest rapidly became overwhelming. Each breath became painful, his mind registering surprise that oxygen was actually still making it into his lungs. Stiles looked around wildly – all the other doors on the passage were closed. For the past two weeks the Sheriff had been religiously closing very door in the house, and keeping them closed (he was planning to fit automatic door closing devices that very weekend). No door was ever to be left open, far less ajar.

Dread washed through Stiles’s system; today had to have been real. This was not a dream. He had helped Scott, he knew that was real – he never had nightmare that involved Scott’s nightmares, nor Allison’s nightmares for that matter. This had to be real. Stiles thought back over the past hour. He could remember Scott’s partial transformation, he could remember the feel of Scott’s trembling as he had held him against his chest, he could remember the smell of Scott’s lemony shower gel. That was all real. It must be real.

Stiles’s bedroom door was closed, as it should be. Stiles opened it enough to get his hand inside, and grabbed the aluminium bat that leant against the wall. He pulled the door closed, and then pulled at it again to make sure that it was closed, before slowly creeping towards the part open door of the bathroom – the bat held aloft in front of him, tightly gripped in both hands, like Arthur and Excalibur.

The sharp pain in his chest eased momentarily as a mental image of Arthur came into his mind – all beefy muscles and blond hair and Merthur shipping - only to return with extra force as he approached the door. Stopping on the threshold for a moment to draw in another stuttering breath that seemed to drag painfully over his ribs, Stiles pushed through into the bathroom.

“Stiles!”

The sound was abrupt – not a shout, but a loud and forceful exclamation that seemed to have an overtone of displeasure laced into the single syllable. A bark, almost. Stiles shrieked, and the bat fell from his nerveless fingers, striking the tiled floor with a hollow clattering sound.

There was a rattle as the shower curtain was partially pulled back, and Derek’s head appeared around the corner. Stiles suddenly noticed the steam filling the room, and the sound of the shower running in the background. The panic and apprehension of the darkness had made him oblivious until that point.

“Stiles, what are you doing?”

Derek seemed to impart additional force to each word as he uttered it, in some kind of crescendo of testosterone, so the “doing” came across with almost a growl. Stiles retreated a little under the vocal onslaught before rallying.

“What do you mean, what am I doing? What are YOU doing? Why are you here? And where the fuck have you been? Scott has been texting you three times a day for the last two weeks. I have been texting you every… a bit as well. And you show up in my shower with no explanation like a character in Dallas? What do you mean what am I doing?”

At the back of Stiles’s mind there was a repeated soundtrack of “this isn’t real, this isn’t real”, playing with the annoying persistence of elevator music.

Derek glowered back at Stiles with his normal air of stoic displeasure, only partly undermined by the fact that his wet hair was plastered to his head with a trace of soap suds on one side. Stiles caught a momentary glimpse of Derek’s shoulder as he adjusted the shower curtain – not that Stiles was looking intently for a glimpse of bare flesh, or anything.

“I was coming back to Beacon Hills when Peter…” a pause for a bit of heavy breathing through the nostrils and that eyebrow movement that indicated supreme displeasure on Derek’s part. “Anyway, we were captured and being tortured” - and sadly neither part of that phrase evoked any surprise on Stiles’s part - “and having escaped, no thanks to Peter, I wanted to go somewhere and clean up. I couldn’t barge into an alpha’s home uninvited, and you are the only other friend I have in Beacon Hills. And I didn’t get any of your texts because I dropped my iPhone in a puddle a couple of weeks ago and it hasn’t worked since.”

“Should have bought a Samsung” Stiles muttered absently. His mind was whirring. The “this isn’t real” soundtrack was increasing in volume and tempo. Derek had said that he was the only other friend that he had in Beacon Hills. Derek would never say that. This couldn’t be real. Derek didn’t even look like Derek (or rather Derek’s face didn’t look like Derek. The rest of Derek was hidden by the shower curtain).

“You’ve shaved.” There was no dark jawline, and Stiles noted absently how much younger Derek’s face looked younger without the scruff of designer stubble. However, even as he said that, Stiles knew that this wasn’t what was different. There was something else. He cast a nervous glance around the room, and saw the white ceramic of the sink speckled with black hairs, his razor lying to one side. “And you used my razor!”

“You’ve never used it”. Derek’s tone had slipped into something like defiance, though there was some taunting in the way he said it too. Derek could be implying that Stiles too sported a manly sort of stubble, but somehow Stiles didn’t think so.

“Give me five minutes to finish my shower, and I’ll come and talk to you.” There was another rattle of the shower curtain rings, and Derek’s face disappeared. Stiles stood staring blankly at the white curtain.

“STILES”. Stiles jerked back against the doorframe. “I can hear you and I can smell you. Is there any reason you are still here?”

Stiles scrambled backwards out of the bathroom. He pulled the door shut after him, and then tugged again on the handle, hard, to make sure it was definitely closed.

 

Stiles stumbled into his bedroom, closing the door forcefully, before leaning back against the wall. The pain in his chest was rising as he glanced around the room. On the back of his chair he could see the draped form of a familiar leather jacket. Dark jeans, what was probably a dark, if somewhat torn T shirt, and what looked like a pair of Nike underarmour shorts were folded with an obsessive neatness on the seat of the chair. But this couldn’t be true. There was no way he was staring at Derek’s underwear in his bedroom, while Derek showered – while Derek showered naked – down the corridor. Stiles gulped in another breath. He was beginning to feel like each breath he drew was going to be his last, and there was therefore an urgency to get another breath into his lungs as quickly as possible while there was still time. His breaths quickly morphed into the hyperventilation of panic, and he pushed himself harder against the wall as if trying to force himself back through the plaster.

“Stiles. STILES!”

Stiles had closed his eyes, but the voice was close. He could feel an exhalation of breath against his sweaty face as the speaker yelled at him. He opened his eyes to see Derek, just inches away from him – still looking weird. There were bright spots in Stiles’s vision now as his panic attack started to take hold, and Derek’s voice still seemed some way off, but there was definitely something weird about him. Derek’s hands were planted on the wall on either side of Stiles’s face, his arms caging him.

“STILES! Are you OK? Are you having a panic attack? What is this?”

The backing track of “this isn’t real” was now pounding away in Stiles’s mind, all bass notes and thumping rhythm. Stiles sagged a little down the wall.

“Oh fuck.” Derek’s voice cut through the fog of Stiles’s mind. Derek seemed to stare irresolutely at Stiles for a moment, before leaning in with an abruptness that did not give Stiles a chance to even flail out of the way. All of a sudden Stiles could feel the pressure of Derek’s lips against his own, a gentle pulling sensation on his bottom lip as Derek tugged with his mouth, and the slight taste of Stiles’s own toothpaste –but on Derek’s tongue, not his.

Stiles’s hyperventilation slowed, and then stopped. He held his breath. Derek Hale was kissing him.


	2. Reality is a big deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This is a nightmare. That’s all it is. A nightmare. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. WAKE UP.”

Somewhere in the midst of the kiss Stiles must have closed his eyes. He knew he must have closed his eyes because when Derek pulled away slowly, seeming to break from Stiles’s mouth, then push back in for a last caressing sweep of his lips and then moving back away again, the sudden loss caused Stiles’s eyes to fly open. Derek stood right in front of him, as before, avoiding Stiles’s gaze.

“Lydia told me that she… and you seemed to be having a panic attack, so I thought…”

Stiles breathed out slowly as his brain tried to process what was happening. Normally his brain was pretty good at the whole processing thing, but it had been under rather a lot of strain in the last few weeks, and the boot up time was taking longer. He stared at Derek for a long moment, before suddenly, almost reflexively pushing back into the long suffering plasterboard of his wall.

“This is a nightmare. That’s all it is. A nightmare. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. WAKE UP.”

The last two words were screamed at Derek, his face contorted in fear and anger – fear at what this meant, and anger that he did not have control, that he could not close the door, and that his subconscious had now started to betray him with his deepest, most repressed, most personal desires – desires no one knew, not even Scott.

Derek looked up at that, his concerned expression mingling with a flush of embarrassment or anger – Stiles was in no state to distinguish.

“I’m sorry Stiles. Lydia said that you needed to hold your breath to control the panic attacks and that this was a way of… I’m sorry if you thought it was awful.”

Stiles’s gasping breaths suddenly stopped. He looked closely at Derek again.

“You…. You…”

A deep breath in – a calming breath, a breath of relief.

“You… you’re… you’ve gotten… dude, you’re chubby.”

Stiles had worked out what had changed. Yes, Derek had shaved and that took about eight years away from his appearance. But the cheeks were fuller, and the chin was more rounded. In his peripheral vision Stiles could see that Derek’s arms were still muscled, but there was a beefiness about them, where before had been muscle and almost nothing but muscle.

Derek’s face flushed a dark red, which only served to fixate Stiles’s attention on the softer outlines.

“I’m in shape. I’m just not in alpha shape. I don’t need to be in alpha shape”. The ‘fuck you’ was implied in the tone.

“Dude, don’t you see? I’ve never seen you chubby, so you can’t be part of my subconscious or something my mind is dredging up or whatever the hell the nightmares are. If you’re chubby, then this isn’t a nightmare. This is real. Thank God, this is real.”

Stiles put his hands on either side of Derek’s face and planted a kiss on his lips. It was not a passionate kiss, it was a closed mouth, ‘thank God I am not going any more insane right at this minute, I need to celebrate’ type kiss. The sort kiss he would have given Scott when they won the state lacrosse championship (if he hadn’t been being tortured at that particular point).  At least that was how it started. But about five seconds into the kiss Derek’s initial tension seemed to ebb away, and he opened his lips a little with a gentle exhalation of breath.

Stiles was never someone to let an opportunity pass. His hands moved from Derek’s cheeks, into his dark, damp hair. Shifting his mouth slightly he was able to first pull at Derek’s top lip, and then to start to trace the outline of his lower lip with his tongue. A further, fleeting moment of tension from Derek faded almost as quickly as it had arrived, and Stiles suddenly felt his head connect with the plaster behind him again – seriously, the wall was going to be dented with all the abuse it was getting. Derek was pushing forward with his mouth, greedily responding to the slightest move on Stiles’s part. Derek’s hands did not seem to have moved from their positions on the wall, but Derek’s body was crowding up against Stiles with an inexorable force.

Suddenly there was a cool sensation of air on moist skin around Stiles’s mouth, and a good six inches between Derek and himself. Derek had broken away, and was slowly moving his head backwards. Stiles made a mewling sound of distress and tried to pull Derek’s head towards him – making grabby motions with his hands where they were still entangled with Derek’s hair.

“Stiles, I can’t. Not when you are so vulnerable, not when you are feeling so…”

Derek’s cheeks were flushed again, and he glanced down. Stiles noted inconsequentially a slight crease forming under Derek’s chin – hardly a double chin (with that jaw line it would have been difficult to get a double chin), but a softness that reinforced the changes in Derek’s body, and underscored the fact that this was all real. Derek wasn’t fat, exactly. Stocky, maybe? A solid meatiness around the muscles. Which made him real. And unbelievably sexy, in Stiles’s entirely impartial opinion.

“Derek, I know this is real. I have never felt more sane in my life.”

“Well, that’s so reassuring given your previous high standards of sanity. “ There was more than a hint of the old, deadpan Derek in that phrase, and he did at least look up.”

“Just… look, I have not felt this together since… I mean…” A sudden sense of dread – not the darkness, just good old fashioned regular insecurity hit Stiles. “You… you don’t… this isn’t because you pity me, is it?”

A definite growl from Derek at that, as he lunged forwards to press his mouth to Stiles’s. Unfortunately Stiles was not prepared for the move. Their noses collided with eye-watering consequences. Derek pulled back, blinking, and stared at Stiles.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry” Stiles was breathing heavily, but in a good way. He leant forward, only to have Derek take one of his hands off the wall, and rest it against Stiles’s chest.

“Are you sure, Stiles? If you are emotionally… if things are… I can’t take advantage.”

Stiles mentally rolled his eyes. Actually he may have rolled his eyes in reality. Derek, true to form, was seeking to punish himself as much as possible (assuming that not having his mouth on Stiles’s mouth was something he considered punishment. Stiles certainly considered it to be a punishment).

“Derek…”. It was a whine, which may not have been the most attractive sound Stiles could have made, but expecting suave sophistication at this particular moment was going to be something of a stretch. Stiles glanced down towards where Derek’s hand was splayed against his chest, only to have his gaze arrested by the contours of Derek’s body.

Derek’s bicep was no longer in his peripheral vision; it was right there, slap bang in front of him – flexing slightly as he pushed against Stiles’s lacrosse jersey. The muscles were still there, Stiles was sure (he could feel the potential power as Derek pushed at his chest), but the arm was definitely beefy rather than muscled. Derek’s shoulders had a solid look to them, and gave way to a chest that…

Stiles paused to catch his breath – and again the breathlessness was breathlessness in a good way. He licked his lips nervously, an act that caused Derek to shift a little towards him. Stiles was nothing if not a fast learner, so he licked his lips again more slowly, in what he hoped was a seductive manner – but really, if anything deserved to be licked it was the pecs of Derek’s chest. The smooth expanse of skin that swelled out. The broadness of Derek’s upper body. The way the pecs formed two creases as the firmness of the muscles softened into somewhat more pliant flesh just below the nipples. Tentatively Stiles reached up a hand – Derek was touching his chest, albeit a cheap synthetic fabric covered and possibly slightly sweat drenched chest. Stiles should not feel bad about reciprocating. In fact, it would be rude not to reciprocate.

The tips of Stiles’s fingers stroked Derek, from the dip of his shoulder downwards. He could feel the strength almost pulsing below the skin, and then (as he moved lower down) a softening – still a firmness, but not as firm. He swirled his fingertips slowly around one of Derek’s nipples, staring mesmerised at his body. He felt more than heard the intake of breath from Derek, who was now leaning ever closer to Stiles’s ear, or possibly his neck. Closer anyway, which was all Stiles really cared about.

Stiles slowly lowered the palm of his hand onto Derek’s chest, and clenched his hand slightly to grab a handful of flesh. This time the intake of breath was audible as a hiss of pleasure, but it was also something that could be felt. Suddenly Stiles could was acutely aware of Derek’s mouth on the side of his neck and a warm, possibly a flushed cheek pressed against Stiles’s own.

Keeping his loose grip on Derek’s chest, Stiles tweaked the nipple between finger and thumb, earning another hiss. He eased the pressure a little, and then slowly moved his hand up and down. It was one of the more erotic sensations he had ever felt. Stiles relished the firmness of Derek’s muscles, moving slowly and powerfully, just a little out of sync with the jiggling of the layer of fat on top.

Stiles cleared his throat. “Only you could go away for weeks and come back even more sexy.” His voice was rasping, and his hand kept the gentle movement up and down as he grasped at Derek.

“You like what you see?” Derek’s voice was a whisper, tickling against Stiles’s ear, with a slight hint of incredulity in it. In response Stiles jiggled his hand up and down a little more forcefully. “Because I can’t see anything.”

Derek pulled back again, breaking Stiles’s grasp, and with a sudden urgency moved both of his hands to the hem of Stiles’s lacrosse jersey. There was a swift movement then some slightly undignified tugging as the jersey stuck around Stiles’s head, and then the jersey was thrown across the room – landing half on top of Derek’s jacket, Stiles noted. Derek pushed a little at Stiles, which only served to push his own body away a few more inches. Stiles was pressed against what he hoped was the immovable solidity of the wall. If the wall started moving there would be trouble.

They stared at each other for a long moment, before Derek’s eyes started flickering hungrily over Stiles’s body. There seemed to be a flash of blue. Stiles reached out again to put his hand back on Derek’s chest, before his eyes drifted down.

“Stiles. STILES”. Derek was sounding forceful again, and that really shouldn’t be as much of a turn on as it was. This time, however, there was no sense of panic behind the vocal force. Stiles realised that he had let his mouth fall open, and possibly his eyes had glazed over a little, because in allowing his eyes to glance down he was seeing things that his mind was not prepared to process. His dick did seem to be willing to have a go at processing the information, and indeed was doing a pretty good job of processing the information, and was sending his brain many urgent signals about the conclusions of the information it was processing, but his mind was trying to wrap itself around what was standing there before him, inches away.

Stiles suddenly realised that what was standing before him, inches away, was not going be going anywhere anytime soon and IT WAS INCHES AWAY. Which meant it was within touching distance. Which meant he could touch. Actually it did not necessarily mean he could touch because Stiles was all about “no means no” if it came to it, but he was going to have a damn good try at touching.

Stiles slid his hand a little lower, running it over the edge of Derek’s chest to his ribs and tracing a long index finger into the slight fold of flesh. He made a mental note to try that same route with his tongue if the opportunity ever arose. Maybe with some sucking, and perhaps some nipping with his teeth too. Shakily bringing his other hand up, Stiles began to slowly stroke down the sides of Derek’s torso. His hands moved in as he followed the V form of Derek’s upper body, before moving out, widening over the creases that marked the start of Derek’s love handles. Stiles licked his lips again, and gripped just a little. His fingers sank into the softness of Derek’s body; just a little, but it was enough that Stiles could feel himself being enveloped by the werewolf as he grasped.

Derek’s hands were moving now, mirroring Stiles’s own hand movements and pulling slightly at Stiles’s waist. There was no roll of spare flesh here – the last lingering traces of Stiles’s adolescent puppy fat had melted away with the exertions of the last year, and now there was a pale, toned expanse of muscle (ideally suited for propelling oneself backwards away from danger, Stiles’s default exercise regime). Derek seemed to like it, however. Stiles thought he could feel the faintest of scratches of claws on his sides.

Neither spoke, although vague and inarticulate sounds of encouragement were coming from somewhere. Stiles was not entirely sure where, perhaps from his own mouth, but there was definitely a gentle moaning from somewhere.

Stiles brought his hands gently towards each other – fingers tracing over the swell of Derek’s stomach as it jutted out over the white towel he had wrapped around his waist. The stocky overhang seemed to pull up to form an inverted V at Derek’s navel – the muscle beneath the fat was still taut there, and the broadening out of the inverted V shape seemed to invite further exploration. Stiles stroked his fingers up and down the slight indentation – in towards the tightly wound towel, and then pulling out over the contours of Derek’s stomach and along the ridge of flesh that marked the current limits Stiles dared explore– a soft little roll of fat that swelled further, rhythmically in and out, as Derek breathed more and more deeply.

Stiles brought his left hand round the edge of the towel, to where the two ends were wrapped together over Derek’s thigh. The towel was a little too small to cover Derek entirely and a broad, nay a vast expanse of Derek’s leg was exposed. 'A vast expanse of Derek's _hunky_ leg' Stiles's subconscious amended, because Stiles's subconscious appeared to have no sense of timing when it should be storing up memories of the sensation of holding Derek's firm flesh rather than coming up with pedantic changes to sentence structure.

“This….” Stiles began to caress Derek’s leg in the gap where the two ends of the towel failed to meet. “This… no fit, big guy.” There was a snort from Stiles’s right ear, and Stiles had the distinct impression that Derek had just blown a raspberry into his neck. Stiles moved his hand up Derek’s thigh towards the top of the towel, feeling the tickle of Derek’s leg hairs against his palm, with every intention of  ‘casually’ loosening the fold. He brushed his fingers higher, trying to loosen the material before tracing over the roll of flesh that overhung the fabric. The towel stayed resolutely in place.

Stiles moaned a little, but refused to be defeated. Sticking his tongue out between his slightly parted lips as he concentrated, he moved his hand down again, over the curve of Derek’s body and to the point where the towel met. Again nothing.

“Fuck it.”

Any sense of subtlety was cast aside as Stiles dug in his fingers and pulled the towel apart. He felt a slithering sensation as the cotton material fell to the floor, brushing against the polyester of his lacrosse shorts at just the point where his dick was straining with rather obvious insistence against the fabric. Stiles almost came with the friction, slight as it was, which would have been embarrassing.

Stiles paused for a moment to revel in his success, and perhaps to reign in the instinct to come in his shorts – the towel was off, so it was a success, even if he had not been as stealthy as he could have been. He glanced up in triumph, and met an image that seemed to prevent all the muscles in his body from working. It was a sight that made him go weak at the knees and weak at everywhere else at the same time (or almost everywhere else. One area was holding up with a Spartan-like discipline). Stiles stared ahead, mesmerised.

As he looked over Derek’s shoulder he could see, reflected in the mirror on the wall opposite, the full glory that was Derek’s ass.


	3. I'm greedy

Stiles’s hands hovered, trembling slightly, as he stared at the image of Derek’s ass in the mirror. Something that perfect should not be touched, surely? There were dimples in Derek’s back, atop two perfect smooth globes – the faintest of creases where the two fat bubbles of Derek’s ass met the powerful muscles of his thighs.

Stiles lowered his hands reverentially onto the warm smoothness of Derek’s ass cheeks, and let out a noise of pure, unadulterated wanton pleasure as the tips of his fingers made contact. The sound quickly turned to a cry of indignant surprise as with a slicing sound he looked down to see the shredded remains of his shorts and briefs littering the floor. Stiles was left naked, his dick achingly hard and leaking pre-come, in front of Derek’s unabashed gaze. Stiles lifted his hands and brought them down sharply again on the spheres of Derek’s bubble butt. He gripped in a little as he made contact, and the slapping sound as his palms hit seemed to echo in the room like the retort of a starting pistol.

As the sound of the slap died away, it was not just the noise that was like a starting pistol; the reaction was similar too. Derek moved with all the alacrity of an athlete leaving the blocks. Stiles felt himself pressed back against the wall, as the warmth of Derek’s body embraced his. With an electric jolt Stiles felt the hard wetness of Derek’s erection pulsing against his stomach, the tip of Derek’s dick gently brushing against his own. Derek was muttering against Stiles’s neck as he slowly pushed his body against Stiles’s. Stiles was suddenly very aware that his dick was trapped between the hard almost-abs of his own stomach, and the fleshier bulk of Derek’s gut, interrupted with sudden stabs of shocking pleasure as Derek’s dick brushed against his occasionally.

Stiles tightened his grip on Derek’s ass, revelling in the soft, jiggling motion of Derek’s cheeks, while catching a sense of the extraordinary power that lurked beneath. He pushed his fingers deeper into Derek’s twin mounds, trying to hold onto the strength as if it were a tangible thing. Stiles’s gripping actions began to move in synch with the thrusts of Derek’s dick, while his own dick mimicked the motion in reverse by trying to envelope itself in the roll of fat at Derek’s stomach. Each of Derek’s increasingly forceful thrusts sent another shockwave of excitement through Stiles’s fingertips, and each movement squished Derek’s love handles out against the sensitive skin on the inside of Stiles’s forearms where they framed Derek’s body. It was an intimate, sensuous feeling that somehow managed to feed the raging fire of Stiles’s lust.

Stiles moistened his lips as he thought what it would feel like to have Derek’s ass beneath him as he thrust into him, or how it would feel to have Derek on top of him, sensing the power of Derek’s thrusts a he buried himself deeper and deeper into Stiles. The thought, combined with the writhing of Derek’s muscles beneath his hands and the welcoming softness of Derek’s stomach against his dick was too much. Stiles’s last attempts at fortitude collapsed before the thoughts he was having, and with a choking cry of sheer hedonistic pleasure Stiles came in a series of hot, wet pulses, smearing Derek’s gut.

As the last moments of orgasmic bliss faded slowly away, Stiles sagged a little against the wall. It brought his head to the same height as Derek’s, and Stiles made to lean his forehead against Derek’s in a moment of calm contemplation. Stiles was not yet equal to speech, but some signal of affection seemed warranted. Derek, however, was pursuing a very different strategy. Something – the scent perhaps? – was spurring him on. His thrusting, hitherto powerful but deliberate, suddenly changed. The pace became frantic, almost animal-like as Derek rutted against Stiles faster and faster, with increased determination. Stiles’s hands slipped a little on Derek’s ass as the exertion caused Derek to break out in a sweat, which combined with the frantic wobbling of his ass cheeks made maintaining a firm grasp increasingly difficult. Then, almost as abruptly as it had started, suddenly the energy was stilled. The briefest of pauses was followed by three or four powerful surging movements that pushed Stiles back up the wall, and then a further warm, wet sensation as Derek’s come mingled with his own, and finally a couple of weaker thrusts smearing the mixture across both of their stomachs.

For some moments the two of them stood together, catching their breath. Derek had worked his hands between Stiles and the wall, and was grabbing Stiles’s ass in much the same way Stiles had grabbed Derek’s. Gradually their breathing eased, the panting for breath slowing almost in synch with one another. Neither of them spoke, but instead each mouthed soft kisses against the other, in languid movements. Eventually, by some unspoken mutual consent, they stepped a little apart. Derek bent to pick up the shredded fabric of what had been Stiles’s lacrosse shorts, and gently wiped first Stiles, then himself, before heedlessly throwing the abused clothing into the far corner of the room.

Still loosely clasped together, Derek and Stiles stumbled in the general direction of the bed, falling onto the duvet in a confused tangle before finally pulling apart. Stiles flushed as he looked over to Derek.

“I’m sorry I was so… I mean, I couldn’t stop myself. It was my first time, and it was you, so there was no way I was going to last.”

Derek leant in to brush his lips against Stiles’s ear, with the gentlest scrape of his teeth.

“I only managed to last because I jerked off in the shower before.” Another scrape of teeth.  “And I was thinking of you the whole time I jerked off.”

Stiles preened, and stretched out on the bed, locking his hands behind his head as he nestled back against the pillows. As he stretched, the flat planes of his stomach were brought into clearer focus by the light and shade effects of his bedside lamp. “So I’m some kind of sex god you can’t help thinking about, and who forces you to jerk off with his presence alone?”

Derek propped himself up on his side as he lay on the bed, resting his head on one hand to look down at Stiles. Stiles took a moment to glance along Derek’s body, from his feet up along his legs to his powerful thighs, the soft but still impressive dick, the gentle swell of his stomach and then the broadening, flushed expanse of his chest.

“Maybe annoying, delusional egomaniacs do something for me.” Derek ran the fingers of his free hand from Stiles’s throat down the centre of his chest with a casual, soft, trailing motion, stopping at Stiles’s waist before slowly retracing his movement.

Stiles sighed out with a soft huff on contentment. “What I said was better.” He wriggled appreciatively as Derek trailed his fingers back down a little lower. “So, dude, what changed?”

Derek shifted his head a little, settling himself more comfortably on the bed. “Why did I get fat? I told you, I don’t need to be in alpha shape any more. I started eating pizza again.”

Stiles clicked his tongue in annoyance. “You’re not fat. You’re…” he thought a moment “you’re voluptuous.” Derek snorted back a laugh, his body shaking slightly, at the term. Stiles twisted a little to look at him, watching the crease above Derek’s love handle deepen as the amusement rolled through him, feeling Derek’s body slap gently against his own side, and catching a glimpse of the swell of Derek’s ass as he rolled slightly towards Stiles – an ass that was just crying out to be bitten into, Stiles thought. “Voluptuous” he said firmly, “and like really, really sexy. And if being an alpha means giving up pizza Scott is so going to be the True Omega of Beacon Hills because he is never giving up pizza. And your beefing up wasn’t what I meant.”

Derek slowed his laughter into calm, his hand still trailing up and down Stiles’s torso, lingering a little at Stiles’s pecs. He had shifted himself closer to Stiles now – the elbow of the arm supporting his head knocking against Stiles’s arm on the pillow, his chest pressed into Stiles’s side, one leg resting slightly on top of Stiles’s.

“I meant” Stiles was sounding purposeful “why did you change? Or not change, because you haven’t changed. But why did you take down the barriers? Let people in?”

Derek’s hand stopped its movement, and he looked intently into Stiles’s face.

“I stopped having to pretend”. He was speaking quietly. “I stopped having to pretend I was alpha material. I always knew it wasn’t for me, but I felt I should try to emulate my mother. But she would never have wanted that for me – she only ever wanted me to be happy. So I stopped pretending to be an alpha, or a leader. I decided to try to be happy, to go try and go back to the person I used to be, to pursue what would make me happy. Like pizza.” Derek lifted his hand from Stiles’s chest to jiggle his own belly a little. The warm flesh slapped lightly against Stiles’s side with the motion. “This” Derek squeezed his spare tyre mid-jiggle “this is the result of me being happy, being who I am and not who I thought I should be.” The grin was sudden, brilliant, and then faded into a softer more affectionate smile. “And I wanted to be with the person who would make me happy.” Derek gently traced down the curve of Stiles’s jaw line with his forefinger “to be with the person I love.”

Stiles mind seemed to take an age to process Derek’s words.  And then suddenly everything changed.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles had always assumed that if he ever managed to close the door it would be big news. A clanging sound, resonating throughout every corner of his mind. The metallic thud of bolts being shot. The clunking boom of a vault door closing. Instead there was a quiet click – a cupboard door being closed firmly, but not slammed. And that was it. The door was closed. A wave of relief crashed through Stiles’s entire system.

“You…” Stiles looked at Derek, who was looking nervous at his reaction. “Derek, you closed the door in my mind. You just…” Stiles’s mouth was frantically trying to keep up with his thoughts as he worked through what had happened. “You shut the door. It must be… it must be unconditional love. We sacrificed to save those who give us unconditional love, and to shut the door we need to know that there are others who love us, who we love, with the same unquestioning affection.” Derek stiffened at the implication of Stiles’s last words, before suddenly leaning across to close his mouth over Stiles’s.

Stiles sank into the kiss for a moment, before leaping up and pushing a protesting Derek back.

“Der, I love you, but I have to tell this to Scott, and Allison. You can’t imagine how important this is going to be to them.”

There was a scramble of limbs, and Stiles pushed himself over Derek’s prone form and off the bed, before staggering slightly off balance towards his desk to grab his Samsung. Scott’s phone rang for three rings before there was a confused sound of fumbling, and the alpha answered.

“Stiles, what is it? Are you OK?”. Scott’s voice was sleep choked, but the concern came through clearly (Samsung technology and the AT&T network was an unbeatable combination).

“Scott, I’ve…” Stiles was about to break the news, when he glanced at Derek. Derek had twisted to look over his shoulder, allowing Stiles to contemplate his face and his ass simultaneously. No red blooded teenager could be proof against such a sight, and Stiles stuttered to a halt.

“Scott… I’ve… I’ve…” Stiles drew in a long breath.

“Stiles, bro. Stay right where you are. I’ll be there in five minutes”.

The phone call ended abruptly. Stiles was left staring at the handset with a puzzled expression, running over the conversation in his mind.

“Oh, holy crap.” Stiles rushed over to his desk chair, grabbed a handful of clothing and hurled it at Derek as he lounged on the bed. “Get dressed, quick. Scott’s going to be here in” he checked the clock on his phone “in four minutes. He thinks I’m having a panic attack or a nightmare or something.”

Derek had caught his clothes reflexively, and stared at Stiles for a moment with a kind of frozen horror. “The alpha whose pack I want to join is on his way here right after I have… with his best friend?”

“Uh huh”. Stiles was frantically hopping around the room, trying to pull up the second leg of a pair of sweatpants while simultaneously wrestling with a Ben Sherman T shirt.

“Oh my…” Derek was a sudden blur of speed, the curves of his bubble butt disappearing behind a chaste curtain of denim as he dragged up his jeans. Stiles was distracted from his own attempts to dress himself as he watched Derek, his gut folding over the waist band of his jeans in three creases as he bent to pull on socks, the way his ass strained against the denim of his jeans, as if trying to break free. Derek straightened and then stood irresolute, holding the tattered remains of his T shirt in one hand.

Stiles gave a slightly evil look at Derek, and paused in his increasingly manic struggle with a mismatched sock of his own. “You’ll have to borrow something of mine.” Diving towards the chest of drawers he threw the first top that came to hand over his shoulder.

“Stiles”. Derek held an orange and blue hooped top in both hands. The eyebrow intensive look he was giving brought a wave of nostalgia washing over Stiles. “You’re kidding me…”

There was a sound of a key pushed with frantic haste into the lock of the front door, and a scrambling on the stairs. Derek pulled the top over his head rapidly. A quiet rending sound was audible as at least one of the seams gave way.

“Stiles, buddy, hold on. I’m coming”. Scott was calling out in panicked tones. “This is real, I promise bro. We’ll do that thing we do with my fingers. That calms you down.”

Derek’s eyebrows shot upwards as he looked at Stiles quizzically.

“I count them” Stiles looked at him with his patented “Really Derek? Really?” expression. “It proved I wasn’t dreaming.”

Scott pushed through the bedroom door, tripping over Derek’s discarded towel before looking frantically around the room. “Stiles, it’s going to be fine. This is my fault. I shouldn’t have left you this evening, I should have been with you, but everything’s going to be fine, buddy, it’s all going to be…. to be… to be… why does everything smell like sex?”

There was no real way to answer that question in Stiles’s opinion, so he stayed silent. Scott suddenly looked between Stiles and Derek, and then Derek and Stiles, and then Stiles and Derek. His head was swivelling back and forth like a cartoon character. Stiles began to hum the theme tune to ‘Scooby Doo’ under his breath.

“You… are you OK? I mean, dude, I… look I don’t want to freak you out or anything, but… I mean, is this real?” Scott‘s face resembled a cute puppy trying to get to grips with a particularly complex calculus problem. “Are you and Derek?”

Stiles nodded vigorously, a look of pride on his face. “Oh yeah buddy. If you had gotten here a minute or so earlier…”

Scott seemed to be trying to repress a shudder. He now looked like a cute puppy confronted with the prospect of a bath.

“Dude, I am happy for you, if you are sure this is what you want”. There was a red flash in his eyes as he glared in Derek’s direction. “If you are sure this is not a reaction to the door ajar thing. Derek didn’t take advantage of you did he? Because if he did” the red flash was in his eyes again “if he did I will…”

Scott got no further with his threats. Stiles was shaking his head at him, before saying quietly “this is real. Really real.”

Scott’s eyes returned to normal. “Dude, are you sure? Are you happy? And while I’m really happy for you if you are happy, there was no need to get me to come over right after you… right after… so soon after ‘the act’”. There was a definite sense of sanitising air quotes being placed around the description. “You could have told me tomorrow”.

Stiles moved closer to Scott, whose nose wrinkled a little. The odours may have been a little strong. He put his hands on Scott’s shoulders. “I’ve shut the door, Scott. And I can shut your door.”

Scott looked bemused.

“You remember that night in the motel?”. Scott nodded. “You remember what I told you?”

“I, yeah, sort of. The wolfsbane messed with my mind so much it is a bit hard to be sure, but you told me you were my bro, and you stepped in to save me.”

“Dude, you are my brother, you know that. And you know, or you should know, that I love you”.  Stiles’s tone became a little more insistent, but he spoke softly. “I would do anything for you, you know that Scotty. If you had dropped that flare before I had gotten to you, I would have walked through the flames for you. You always underestimate how important you are to me – you always underestimate how important you are to everyone. Derek won’t change us. You just need to know you have my love, without question.”

Scott gave a sharp intake of breath, and Stiles smiled at him. He knew the door had closed for Scott.  Scott pulled him into a tight embrace, and Stiles could sense rather than feel that he was crying.

“Dude, I love you too, you know that. You know you are my brother too, right? You know, I mean, you know I can’t… without you I wouldn’t… you mean...” Scott broke off, with a choking sound, and pulled Stiles even closer.

Stiles rubbed his hands on Scott’s back. “I know buddy. But now you need to go and talk to Allison. The same thing should work for her.”

Scott drew in a deep, cleansing breath. Stiles could feel it moving up his body as they pressed together in the hug. “No. Isaac needs to talk to Allison. I love her, I always will, but it has to be Isaac. I’ll go back home and tell him.”

Stiles broke away from Scott’s embrace. “Scott, are you sure? I mean, about Isaac and Allison?”

Scott nodded, a little mournfully.

“Dude, you don’t have to do it. I’ll go see the scarf wearing creep and tell him what to do. I’ll go now.” Stiles glanced back towards Derek with a mixture of regret and longing at what he was giving up that evening, before sighing with a determined resolution. “You shouldn’t have to do this Scott.”

Scott smiled, a little wanly. ”It’s fine Stiles. I don’t mind. And Isaac – Isaac is right for her, right now. He’s a good guy, really. He’s pack.”

Stiles humphed out a sound of dissent, but no more.

In the background Derek coughed. “Scott, on the subject of pack, I wanted to talk to you…”

Stiles turned to see Derek with his head partly bowed in Scott’s direction. The blue and orange top was not going to last much longer – already Stiles could see an expanse of pale flesh exposed under one arm, and as he watched a further couple of inches of seam came apart, the tear widening towards where the material was stretched taut over Derek’s belly.

Scott looked at Derek. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow Derek. After I’ve talked to Stiles. But you two need some time together.” He looked towards Stiles with a sort of compassionate understanding.

Stiles grinned back at him. “Sure thing bro. I’ll give you all the gory details.”

Scott stepped back reflexively, putting up a hand to ward off the threat. “No, Stiles, that’s OK, I just want to make sure…”

Stiles pulled him back into an embrace “every last intimate detail” he whispered malevolently into Scott’s ear.

There was some manly backslapping. Possibly a tear or two more. And then finally there was the distinctive sound of a true alpha stumbling his way downstairs on his way to do something noble.

Stiles tuned to Derek, wiping his eyes a little as he did so. In two strides Derek closed the distance between them and hugged him as tight as Scott had done.

“Are you scent marking me? You are aren’t you. Stop scent marking me”. Stiles pushed Derek back a little. “I want to mark you.”

Stiles slipped a hand between the torn seam of the blue and orange top, feeling the warm flesh beneath. With a sudden motion Derek pulled the top off over his head – almost dragging Stiles’s hand up with it. Stiles stared for a long moment, before slowly sinking to his knees. Slowly, with great deliberation, he licked his lips before moving his mouth an inch or so above the top of Derek’s jeans.

“I… think… we… need…” each word was punctuated by a slide of his tongue against Derek’s stomach, from the region of his navel down over the contours to the fold over the waist band of the jeans “to.. create… some… really… good… details…”. With fumbling fingers Stiles undid the button of Derek’s jeans. The zipper opened a good couple of inches under the force of Derek’s body, released from the constraints of the fabric. “So I have plenty to tell Scott.” The last words came out at a rush, and Stiles started tugging at the fabric.

“He can still hear… never mind”. Derek broke off abruptly, with a little hiss of pleasure.  

“Bed, big guy.” Stiles’s voice had a slight rawness to it. “I don’t know whether to blow you or fuck you.”

Derek smiled. “Both”. He brought both hands down to slap at either side of his belly, causing a ripple of movement that nudged against Stiles’s nose. “I’m greedy.”

 

 

 

Fin

 

 

Thanks for comments and kudos. A niche piece, I know, but the support is much appreciated

 

                                                                                                                                                                     


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